Title: The Day is Fading
Author: Ponderosa (ponderosa@dragonworld.com)
Pairing: Atreyu/Bastian (The Neverending Story)
Archived at: Destiny Interrupted (my site - url in profile)
Warnings: [PG-13] Slash. Atreyu/Bastian. Angst. Very mild underage limey things.
Spoilers: Everywhere...
Disclaimer: Characters belong to their respective copyright owners, like Michael
Ende. Plot, if you can call it that, belongs to me.
Notes: I blame this entirely on Lily. A big thank you to Moonsliver for all her help.
-=*=-
"They really are purple!" Bastian shouts and points.
"Of course they are," Falkor replies, his deep voice rumbling through his long body. "And there is Atreyu, back on the hunt once more." The young boy astride Falkor's neck clings tightly with his knees as he rises up to look as best he can.
Far below them, the young warrior Atreyu races across the plains on horseback. As the shadow of the great dragon darkens the grass before him, he glances up and squints against the harsh light of the sun.
"Falkor, can we go down and meet him?" Bastian asks, his eyes shining eagerly.
"Of course," Falkor laughs.
"Atreyu! Atreyu!"
As the luck dragon flows down like a silvery ribbon out of the sky, the Plainsmen's greatest warrior reins in his mount. He swings his leg over Artax' strong back and drops lightly into the yellowed, knee-deep grass. He holds a hand to shade his eyes as Falkor lands gracefully before him, and offers a greeting to both dragon and boy.
Bastian slides down from the dragon's neck, stumbling a little as his feet hit the ground. He recovers quickly and smiles as he runs over to Atreyu. The young warrior smiles back.
"Thank you, Bastian," Atreyu says, "for giving the Empress a name."
"It was nothing," Bastian says, blushing.
"On the contrary," Atreyu says, kneeling reverently before the younger boy, "it was everything."
-=*=-
'I want to hold you until the end of time,' Atreyu whispers in his mind alone. 'You, who are so thin in my arms.'
He holds, as close as he can, while he can, the slim body of a boy no older than himself. Thick auburn hair curls around Bastian's ears and his limbs are growing too fast for his body. He is gangly like a colt.
Atreyu smiles faintly, remembering when he first took Bastian hunting, the youth could hardly draw a bow. "Soon," he says quietly, running his fingertips along his lover's slender arm, "you'll be stronger than me. You never imagined such a thing could be possible, did you.... And therein li-" He bites his tongue as the other boy stirs awake.
Bastian's thick lashes flutter as they open. "Atreyu," he says. He looks up at the dark-haired boy, and his lips stretch into a sweet smile. Across Bastian's nose, freckles dust his fair skin; blossomed there after all the sun-filled afternoons spent ranging the plains with the boy who has become his lover.
"We need to leave soon," Atreyu says.
"I don't want to," Bastian replies, twisting in the other's grip until he's resting on his stomach. The grass tickles his naked flesh and he stretches his long arms up to hang over Atreyu's shoulders. He pulls himself up, trailing kisses across the warrior-boy's smooth, sun-darkened skin. "I like it here."
"I know, but we can't stay like this forever, Bastian. The day is fading and the buffalo are on the move," Atreyu says. His eyes are unusually dark, but the other boy just shrugs and seeks out his lips.
"Tomorrow then," Atreyu says softly.
-=*=-
Tomorrow comes and goes, and a hundred more fly past in the hours that Bastian can steal from the world. Today the air is heavy with the smells of late summer, and a lazy breeze rustles through the twisting branches of a lonely tree that offers a wide ring of shade.
The tree's solid trunk against his back, Bastian smiles at the boy sitting opposite him. He reaches out and slides a hand past Atreyu's cheek to take a handful of the boy's thick hair. He sifts the loose strands through his fingers. His lover's hair is dark, like rich soil, and the same length it has always been.
"That tickles," Atreyu complains, and reaches up to scratch the slope of his neck.
"Your hands," Bastian murmurs. He catches Atreyu's fingers before they fall back to his lap and holds them in his own. "They used to seem so large." His brow forms a severe crease, and he looks up into a face more familiar than his own. "What does it mean?"
The truth is there, as it has since his quest took him to the Southern Oracle, but Atreyu's tongue betrays him. "Let's ride!" he says, taking back his hand and leaping to his feet. He whistles sharply for Artax. "It's a great day for riding."
Bastian ignores the horse that trots over to lip at his shirtsleeve and nudge his shoulder. He rises slowly, brushing away bits of grass from his navy blue slacks to stand there warily. "Tell me, Atreyu, if you know."
The warrior-boy hangs his head, dark hair hiding his face. He runs a hand along his mount's sleek coat and tangles his fingers the horse's mane.
"Tell me what you know!" Bastian cries. Impatience and frustration gives edge to his words and they hit the other boy like a slap across the face.
"Don't you know already?" Atreyu says. He presses his lips together in a sullen line and rests his head against Artax's powerful neck. Even the Swamps of Sadness did not make his heart ache like this.
"It's like I'm growing up... and you're not," Bastian breathes, and his stomach twists as he realizes why. His loosely curled hair bounces as he shakes his head, slowly at first, then faster, in furious denial. He's ashamed at the hot tears that springs to his eyes, but he doesn't try to hide them.
"This is wrong! This isn't how it's supposed to be!" he cries. He paces back and forth, alternating between running his fingers through his hair and smoothing down the front of his new school uniform. "You can come with me -- to my world."
"Where you say the skies are clogged with foulness and people live packed together like rats?" Atreyu says, whirling around with his fists clenched at his side. "I would be miserable there and you know it!"
"I could make you happy," insists Bastian. His eyes narrow slightly and he stands tall. His broadening shoulders are square in the crisp white of his button-down shirt. "I could undo everything and wish for it."
A tiny shiver of fear races up Atreyu's spine. "Yes, you could wish it so."
"But," whispers Bastian, his shoulders slumping, "I don't want to have to force you to be happy."
Atreyu's dark eyes lose their fire and he steps forward, wrapping his slender arms around the lonely boy he fell in love with. "Stay with me then," Atreyu says. Bastian rests his head on his shoulder and he presses a kiss into the youth's wild curls. "There must be a way for you to live here in Fantasia forever. We'll find you one of those funny horses with a horn and I'll teach you more than just how to ride and shoot a bow. We'll travel the world! I'll show you the Silver Mountains and the best places to..."
Although his heart screams for him to say yes, Bastian shakes his head in a silent no. Even if it were possible, how could he leave his father alone? Or throw away all his hopes for the future? The ugly truth that his love for Atreyu doesn't measure up to all the other things in his life sends a fresh wash of tears trailing down his face. "I'm so sorry," he says, forcing the words past the strangling lump of grief and guilt in his throat. "This is all my fault."
Atreyu can find nothing to say. The silence grows heavier as he clings to the boy he's been losing minute by minute all these years.
"You should go," the warrior-boy says, when the sun has gone and the shadows are cool against his bare skin.
Raising his head off Atreyu's shoulder, Bastian wipes his face with the back of his hand. He feels like he's eleven again, when he says, "I don't want to."
Atreyu nods. "I know," he says. His nimble fingers undo the knot of a simple bracelet of beaded leather that circles his wrist, and as Bastian steps away, he presses the gift into the boy's hand. "Remember me?"
"Always," Bastian whispers, swallowing hard before he smiles bravely at the vision of what he once wanted to be. And kisses him goodbye.
Never before had closing a book made such a heavy sound.
Owari